


In which Gil enjoys a sandwich

by Overlord_Bethany



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Paris hijinks, Pre-Canon, food and questionable treatment thereof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: ...or, In which Gil misses the point of a study group





	In which Gil enjoys a sandwich

Colette had coordinated a lunch-and-study session for their entire Historical Uprisings class, which was nice. She had also managed to get Tarvek Sturmvoraus seated directly across from Gil, which was considerably less nice. The two of them shared a brief, mutual glare. Then Tarvek busied himself with his notes, and Gil opened his course text,  _Minions, Monsters, & Mutiny: What Went Wrong_. He could probably write a full thesis on the topic without ever consulting the book, but for the purposes of study group, he would read it. 

“You were supposed to have read that already,” Tarvek said. 

Gil glared, but Tarvek did not look up from his notes to see it. He might have read the book, had he not spent the last several nights chasing minions, monsters, and mutinies through the back alleys of Paris. He thought of Bangladesh DuPree, currently hoarding every pillow in the room, snoring underneath his bed. Lucky captain.  

“I was busy.”

Tarvek made a derisive noise, but otherwise ignored him. The book, it turned out, was an anecdotal history, and the author had chosen a somewhat humorous voice. Absorbed in reading, Gil failed to notice when plates of sandwiches, fruit, and assorted cheeses began to arrive around them. Colette nudged him. He looked up from the book to see all of his classmates eating and carrying on a lively discussion without him. 

“He never does the reading,” Tarvek grumbled to Colette, under the ebb of the chatter. She shrugged and leaned over to argue with the student to her other side. Gil’s eyes narrowed. Was Colette provoking Tarvek on purpose? Weren’t they friends?

Gil reached for the nearest platter of food, helping himself to a large sandwich. Still absorbed in reading, he failed to notice dropping watercress all over the tablecloth until Tarvek cleared his throat loudly. Grinning to cover his chagrin, Gil scooped the watercress into his napkin. Tarvek glared as though he could undo the deed by mere force of his lowered brows. 

Gil picked at the end of the sandwich as he read, nibbling tiny bits of various meats. Tarvek gave a noisy sigh of annoyance through his nose. Just like a cat. The thought amused Gil enough to bring him back out of his book. He set it aside, and he devoted his full attention to his sandwich. 

It was, in all fairness, a magnificent sandwich. Six kinds of meat and three different cheeses competed for space on a gently toasted baguette. Watercress peeked out along the edges, as did red onion, fresh herbs, and some sort of suspiciously purple-tinted substance of a colloidal nature. Gil stuck his finger in the purple stuff and lifted it to his tongue to taste it. 

Tarvek growled. Actually growled!

Gil could have attempted to lie, could have claimed that he smiled about discovering the most surprisingly delightful red wine and lingonberry sauce on his sandwich, but what good is lying to oneself? It entertained him far too much, he discovered, this coaxing Sparky tones of disapproval from Tarvek with simple rough manners. His grin broadening, Gil placed his hand flat on his sandwich and pressed down, flattening it by maybe a centimeter. Tarvek looked away, scandalized. 

It was then that Gil noticed a foreign object, a brittle little bit of something on the top of his sandwich. It was solitary. It did not belong. 

Gil eyed the sandwich. He poked at the unidentified curl of plant mater atop the baguette with the tip of his finger. It rolled to one side, but otherwise yielded no information. 

Tarvek had had about enough of Gil’s lax manners. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know what that is.” With a shrug, Gil picked the object in question up and touched it to his tongue. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Tarvek repeated, more alarmed than before. Alarmed, not infuriated. Gil filed the oddity away for later analysis. 

“Oh. Singed onion skin.” Disappointed at the mundane answer to his question, Gil discarded it. 

Tarvek slammed his notes closed. “You are a disaster,” he said. Colette leaned over and murmured something into his ear, but he only bristled more. “It stopped being funny a long time ago,” he groused. Colette gave him a small, sad smile where he could not see it. “Look at him,” he added, with a gesture of frustration in Gil’s direction. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating.” Colette gave Gil a grin that said that she knew just how hard to damage he really was. 

“With table manners like that,” Tarvek scoffed, “someone will shoot him eventually.”

Someone a few seats down giggled, but Gil kept his eyes on his sandwich. He had provoked Tarvek, as planned, but why did his triumph feel so hollow? Shrugging off his odd disappointment, Gil picked up the sandwich and took the biggest bite he could cram in his mouth. 

Tarvek made the most hilarious noise, half growl and half gurgle. Colette hid a grin behind the back of her hand. Then, catching Gil watching her, she lifted one eyebrow and tilted her head toward Tarvek. 

Gil had no idea what she meant by that. 

Honestly, at that moment the Master of Paris himself could have walked into their study group and demanded that Gil go hunt down another deranged megalomaniac, and Gil would have ignored him. He had important sandwich eating to accomplish. He made an effort to care about Colette’s attempts to kick him surreptitiously—without Tarvek noticing?—but in the end, the sandwich won. It was too delicious. 

Gil gave Colette a small, apologetic smile after he had demolished most of the sandwich. She rolled her eyes and she shook her head, but she said nothing. 

Tarvek, on the other hand… “Didn’t they  _feed_  you after I left?” he demanded, tossing his own napkin across the table in a gesture that somehow conveyed both benevolence and disdain. “I never would have let you become such a mess.”

Later, much later, Gil would find humor in the way he and Tarvek both reacted the same way to Tarvek’s rare unguarded words. They flinched back, shocked and stung. They stared at each other in horror as fresh pain sank back into familiar resentment. They sat back in their chairs, sullen, stewing in mutual recriminations. 

Colette choked on a slice of apple. 

Gil reached for his own much-abused napkin, leaving Tarvek’s discarded on the table. Tarvek scowled, and Gil felt a twinge of satisfaction. With a little smirk, he returned to his reading.

**Author's Note:**

> As I have now returned to stable employment, my productivity may slow somewhat.


End file.
